As I went into her room to put a few pairs of clean socks into her dresser, I noticed a lower drawer sticking out just a little bit. Something shiny caught my eye. As I opened the drawer in full to satisfy my curiosity, I could feel the tears welling up in the corners of my eyes. There sat her box of treasures. Little things that she found and collected along the way. Things to claim as hers. Things that she played with for a season and then retired when something new came along. Each has a memory associated with it. There is a bag of marbles, some of which I had as a kid. There are a few field day ribbons that she won years ago at school. A hand-carved top and the zip-cord from a wind-up car. A few pom-poms from a cheerleader doll and some pretty stickers that I gave her that we both felt were too special to actually use. I remember a rainy afternoon some 3 or 4 years or so ago, when she pulled this box out and spent many hours rummaging through it. Her laughter and squeals clearly indicated that she was rediscovering her treasures all over again. I can hear her asking me "Daddy do you remember this?" time and time again. That day was likely the last time that she thought about her treasure box. I would guess that at this point, none of her collection holds any meaning to her. Years go by and growing up has a way of changing our values and our wonder. The future brightens and opens up, while the past fades gently away. It is expected and healthy for her. Yet, I will remember.
